Winter Rhapsody
by ElvenDestiny
Summary: He thought he saw one of the figures, tall and slender, perhaps ruby–eyed, pause and look out to where he was sitting in the silver car by the curb. But he must have imagined it, because the windows were tinted... SxYY, Christmas fic.
1. Resonance

**Winter Rhapsody**

Part One – _Resonance _– _when several strings are tuned to harmonically related pitches, all strings vibrate when only one of the strings is struck_

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**He was tired by the time he got home, but at the very least he would be able to spend the next two days with Mokuba. Thinking of his little brother, Seto felt familiar guilt wash over him. There was never enough time in his day and the last month had been particularly busy in preparation for the holiday season. Mokuba had spent most of the nights alone in the enormous Kaiba mansion as he stayed late in the office implementing some last-minute marketing campaign deals.

"Nii-sama, you're home," Mokuba exclaimed, jumping up and hugging his beloved older brother. It never failed to amaze Seto how much energy he had, and the exuberance he showed in life. One might have expected Mokuba Kaiba to be somewhat similar to his infamous older brother. And when people described Seto Kaiba, words like _glacier_, _heartless_, and _arrogant _frequently were heard. Mokuba was none of these, and Seto cherished the difference, had worked all his life to make sure that his brother would never become…well, like himself.

Released from Mokuba's grasp, Seto stood back and surveyed the rest of the room. The table at the center of the room was covered with leftover wrapping paper and various shiny, discarded ribbons, but the neat stacks of carefully-wrapped presents nearby were evidence of Mokuba's effort. The charm of the scene, as much as he was loath to admit it, was not lost on the usually stoic Kaiba.

Examining the colorful packages, Seto's eyes narrowed in annoyance when he saw the labels. Whether he wanted to or not, however, he couldn't ignore the fact that Yugi and little his circle were some of Mokuba's closer friends. He wondered why his brother preferred older friends that he rarely saw. It wasn't as if he had difficulty making other friends. Then again, Mokuba had always been mature…or did that just add to the mystery, seeing how 'mature' Yugi and his friends were? Kaiba inwardly snorted.

The only one with even the slightest bit of sense in that group was Yami, but that was probably outweighed by his sense of the melodramatic. He was also crazy. Seto had reluctantly been forced to admit that Yami existed, seeing as how the last time he'd met up with the group, the self-declared 'pharaoh' had been right there would them. But he still wasn't willing to believe any of that ancient Egypt junk.

Except his subconscious might, if the dreams that had lately begun to bother him were any indication. Why on earth did his rebellious imagination insist on such insanity? Yami was bad enough in real life, let alone running around in his head gleefully dressed and acting like the pharaoh he claimed to be.

For a moment, Seto was almost cross-eyed as he imagined a certain annoying, miniature pharaoh dancing around his head saying 'I AM pharaoh! I told you so!' Then he abruptly realized the direction his thoughts had taken, all from his scrutiny of Mokuba's choice of present recipients. Seto scowled, annoyed with himself. He must be more tired than he thought.

Realizing that Mokuba must have been quiet for quite some time, he turned his attention back to his brother. At this moment, Mokuba was fidgeting in his chair, something he rarely did.

"What's wrong?" The thought of Mokuba being bullied at school again made his blue eyes seem even colder than usual. The fact that Mokuba bore the Kaiba name exposed him to more than the average kid.

"Nothing, Seto." Under his brother's direct stare, Mokuba squirmed and then said meekly, "I wanted to ask you…"

"Well?"

"Actually, Yami and Yugi are throwing a party at their house," Mokuba said in a rush. "I was invited and—"

Seto thought of the quiet Christmas he had planned to spend with Mokuba and interrupted: "You can go."

"But…" What Mokuba couldn't point out was that the invitation didn't extend to Seto. No doubt kind-hearted Yugi had tried, but Yami and the others would have stopped him. Yugi had probably given up, thinking that Kaiba would never accept anyway, and that it was not worth breaking peace in the group of friends.

"You can go by yourself. Just make sure you're home before midnight."

"I'm sorry, nii-sama," Mokuba said in a small voice, blue-violet eyes downcast. Somewhat alarmed—his brother was more attuned to his feelings than anyone else in the world—Kaiba redoubled his show of indifference.

"Don't be. There's nothing to be sorry for. Don't be afraid to ask, Mokuba." He was rewarded with a brilliant smile. "When is this party of yours?"

"Tomorrow night starting at seven," Mokuba told him, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"All right then." In a rare display of affection, Seto ruffled his brother's hair, thinking about the holidays and all that they meant. "I'll even drive you there. But you have to go to bed now. It's late."

"Okay!" The kid dashed off to his room, but not before Seto reminded him to brush his teeth. Some time later his tired older brother checked up on him. Mokuba was fast asleep in bed, a blissful smile on his face.

xxxxx

The steady yet uneven sound of typing continued late into the night. Kaiba sat before his computer system, checking over all the details that came with controlling his highly profitable company. At least Mokuba would have a good time later tonight with Yugi and Yami. It was Christmas Eve, and he deserved it. It was usually a time for family gatherings, but Yugi's gang had various family problems, and Mokuba would be surrounded by a bunch of his chosen friends, however disagreeable Kaiba personally found the choices. It wasn't a bad way to spend Christmas.

They didn't celebrate Christmas for any religious reasons. Kaiba didn't believe in God. He didn't believe in anything at all, except perhaps the power of human volition, and that was only because he was so self-controlled, confident in his own willpower.

Why was he pretending? He had gone over these very documents just a few hours before. There was nothing that needed to be done, and he should catch as many hours of sleep as he could, to make up for all the times he had spent entire nights working. But Kaiba typed on, because he didn't want to sleep.

It was a torture to sleep, because he was tempted to escape into oblivion. To relax into that blissful state of unconsciousness and visit near the shores of death. When was the last time he had slept well? He couldn't remember. After a point, the world just seemed to be fantastic, the colors seemed brighter and almost garish, and reality became dreamlike. He knew it was all the effects of fatigue, but he still couldn't bring himself to sleep, as if to do so would be to admit a weakness to himself. Lately he had dreamt, too.

He was so tired, but the truly weary things were his heart and mind. He needed to keep busy, didn't want to think—usually he had so many things to do, so many deadlines to meet that life flew past him without his ever truly noticing. But now there was nothing left to do, and he tried very hard not to think about how empty the house was, blanketed by never-ending silence.

He preferred solitude anyway. Human relationships were so tenuous, so easily broken. Why put yourself through all the pain? People betrayed you, people grew distant and ignored you, people didn't want to see your problems because that would make them feel like they had some sort of obligation, and everyone hated guilt. Over time, he'd learned well enough that the only one you could truly count on was yourself. So he had chosen to isolate himself from the world.

Or did he? Did he teach himself to accept, to even pretend to prefer being alone, because he had been alone for so long? For some reason, it bothered him that he was excluded from Yugi's warm circle of friendship, that no one had even attempted to invite him. Probably the thought had not even crossed their minds. He stood apart from them in every way. Normally, Seto would have considered it a good bargain if Yugi and his friends left him alone. He despised them, after all.

But he knew the truth was that part of that hatred came from envy as well. Not that they had each other to depend on—Kaiba didn't believe in anything but self-reliance—but that they were _together_.

Suddenly, inexplicably, he was angry. Angry at himself for being so weak, for letting his thoughts get out of control, and for dwelling on things he shouldn't. He saved all the programs and closed down the computer with sharp clicks of the mouse. The room was eerily quiet with the absence of the computer's soft hum and the clicking of the keyboard.

The glowing red numbers on the clock proclaimed the time to be six-thirty. Mokuba was probably ready, then. All day long he had been practically bouncing off the walls in his excitement. Seto was glad to see it. Mokuba couldn't remember, and Seto only had a few memories himself—but he remembered the warmth of Christmastime, when the family gathered around the tree and exchanged gifts, when laughter and joy and life had drifted out through the windows of their house. Before his parents had died. Before the orphanage. Before Gozaburo.

He was a poor substitute, trying to be brother, father, friend, and protector to Mokuba at the same time. And he had failed, hadn't he? Pegasus had taken Mokuba because he knew he was Kaiba's greatest weakness. Noah had turned Mokuba against him, and it had terrified him, hurt him in ways he would not admit. For that one moment, he had realized that there was no one else but Mokuba that cared one iota if he lived or died. And while Kaiba would have responded to this with the natural assertion that he didn't care that other people didn't care, it wasn't altogether true. He could lie to the world, but lying to himself was a little more difficult.

His pride, one the few things that sustained him, was torn into two. To admit that he was weak enough to need anyone, or to indirectly admit that he needed to wrap his own mind in a safe, comforting web of lies.

It was so long ago that it felt almost as if he had dreamed it. Not quite a memory, no. Just wishful thinking, a lingering trace from the past, from a time when he was…happy. He had everything he needed, now. He had money and Mokuba and the company. But he was honest enough to admit to himself that his was not happiness, or even life. Just existence. Just a cold and lonely endurance against fate.

He strode into the hallway, down to Mokuba's room, and rapped on the door a little sharper than he had intended. Mokuba opened the door and then stared at him with wide, surprised eyes. Seto hadn't realized that his blue eyes were blazing cold, icy sapphire until he looked at his brother's expression.

"Let's go," he said brusquely.

Mokuba hesitantly lingered in the doorway. "Are you sure you want me to go?"

"Of course. Come on, you don't want to be late now, do you?" Seto forced some warmth back into his voice, but he could tell by Mokuba's attitude that it came off falsely. Mokuba didn't comment, however, as he got into the silver car and Seto personally drove him to Yugi's place.

The Turtle Game Shop was cheerfully decorated with flashing Christmas lights and snowflakes. The trip there was completely silent until Kaiba pulled up by the curb. "Go have some fun," he said as Mokuba opened the door and clambered out. "Call me on my cell phone when you need to be picked up."

"Come with me," Mokuba said impulsively. "Please, nii-sama?"

There were so many replies that made their way fleetingly across his mind. _Have you forgotten? I wasn't invited_. _They don't want me there anyway_. But all he said was: "I wouldn't fit in. Don't worry about me. I want you to just enjoy yourself."

"All right, Seto." Flashing a dazzling smile towards his big brother, Mokuba hauled out the paper bags with all his presents and closed the door awkwardly. Kaiba watched him make his way to the door, and turned his own words over and over again in his mind.

He didn't fit into this world, not on the inside. The outside reflected success and ambition, confidence, arrogance. But what was it all for? He was missing something, and all his vain attempts to cover up the hole, to fill it up with some substitute, to simply ignore it…all of it failed.

The place was lighted and warm, and some of the others must have already arrived because he heard bright laughter fill the frosty night. The door opened so that the light spilled out and briefly he saw two figures, which must have been Yami and Yugi.

He thought he saw one of the figures, tall and slender, perhaps ruby-eyed, pause and look out to where he was sitting in the silver car by the curb. But he must have imagined it, because the windows were tinted, and while he could see the world, the world couldn't see him. He could no longer remember if he'd requested the tinting, or if the dealership had assumed he wanted it that way, since wealthy customers liked privacy. Suddenly he was haunted by the question. Who had put that barrier up first? Had he isolated himself by his own free choice, or had he merely been rejected?

When he had been younger and forced to music, he had been fascinated by something that he'd inadvertently learned. When two strings were tuned to harmonically related pitches, one only needed to strike one string for both to vibrate. It had seemed magical to him, that the other strings could respond without being touched, that even across the wide distance of the room, the second string would resonate, a fainter echo. Later, when Gozaburo had required physics, he'd learned the exact mechanisms of why and how and so forth. Yet the enchantment remained.

Now he wondered if hearts, too, resonated the way that strings did. If they echoed each other across time and across distance.

Greetings done, Mokuba disappeared inside, and Kaiba silently left, almost as if he had never been there.

xxxxx

A/N: Newly edited and rewritten. I finished this prideshipping story after Christmas last year so I decided to post it for next year. I didn't realize how much my writing has evolved over just ten months, though! I know this beginning's short, but I hope you're intrigued. **Please review.** The YGO fandom overall just isn't as generous as some others, which I think is a shame - everyone needs encouragement, and I for one want good writers to continue writing lovely things for me. So if you read something (this isn't a speech for my story, but a general appeal) please take a moment to leave the author a few words.


	2. Album Leaf

**Winter Rhapsody**

Part Two – _Album Leaf _– _a dedicatory musical thought; a short, simple piano piece of intimate character_

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Kaiba had been driving for nearly five minutes before he realized that he had made his decision already, just hadn't admitted it to himself. He didn't recognize the street names or the buildings, but the neighborhood he found himself in was familiar. The poorer part of the city, where very few houses were lit, where people could be seen huddled around the corners of buildings, shivering in ill-fitting coats. He parked a ways off from his destination and paid a homeless person to watch over his car.

"I'll hunt you down if anything so much as scratch it," he threatened, letting the mask slip—or putting one on—and showing the ice in his voice. The night screamed of deadly things and he knew he exuded an aura of ruthless violence just barely held in check. It was something that had terrified countless people, people who otherwise might have laughed at his age, when he took over Kaiba Corp. He'd discovered that there was something about him that upset other people, and it had proved to be useful.

The man clutched at the money convulsively, eyes bright with something—hope? desperation? Seto could not tell his age; the homeless all looked alike, as if hardship, rather than life, had rendered them into old men long before their time.

For a moment Seto wondered what the man saw when he turned those over-bright eyes to him. A young man with a perfect life, descended from a wealthy family, dressed in a stylish, costly trench coat. The arrogant blue eyes, pale skin, and slender figure, which lended themselves to the impression of aristocracy. When he extended his hand, he tried to see what a stranger would see: capable, delicate fingers, silver watch gracing the wrist, screaming of luxury and elitism.

They couldn't be more different, but Kaiba knew it was a lie. Underneath that thin, polished veneer of civilization he was just one of them still, trying to climb the ladder towards a better life while everything around him—fate, luck, destiny, call it what you like—sawed away at the wood just beneath his feet.

He took a big cardboard box from the trunk. It was very heavy, but he carried it gracefully as if it were empty. His breath puffed white from the cold. He walked through the dimly lit streets, and the night was wintry and silent. No caroling voices here, where the human spirit had all but been extinguished with misery and poverty. If souls could be heard, the place would resound with one continuous moan of pain and human suffering.

It looked still the same as ever, the yellowish coat of paint peeling and cracked, the windows dirty and scratched with obscene words. A playground was to the right, if it could be rightly called so. The bars had seen so many years that the paint had all fallen off, revealing rusting metal beneath. Without children, it was eerily deserted. One of the swing chains was broken, rendering the swing useless. The bright blue plastic seat portion swung with a creaking sound, to and fro in the chill wind.

It was cold here in a way that had nothing to do with temperature, too. Perhaps it could be described of as a permafrost of the soul. This was where the downtrodden lived, where hope was more an agony than a blessing.

For a brief moment, he thought he saw a child's face press against one window, eyes searching and meeting his. But the house was too dark, and when he looked again the glass had nothing behind it. The windows looked like sad, empty eyes, he thought, although not prone to such flights of imagination. Harder to face was the deep sense of recognition, bringing back the uncontrollable welter of memories he had tried so hard to forget.

He had left the car behind because he remembered how many times he had stood by one of these very same windows, watching as an expensive car pull up. The brief moment of hope that someone would take them from this place. And then later, again, watching as the car pulled away, taking one of the sad inhabitants of the orphanage with it, now suffused with joy. Not Seto, because he adamantly refused to go without Mokuba. How many times had he stood, watching the outside world through those windows?

On entering the orphanage, he spoke with the woman in charge. An attendant came and took away the box. He followed her to the main communal room. It was still the same, even after all these years. There were no signs that it was Christmas—no trees, no lights, nothing. The children inside seemed oddly inanimate, as if they were furniture, or paintings on the wall, and their voices were soft and slow. They weren't children anymore, expect for the illusion of age.

But the room was warm this year, because of the new donations of money from Kaiba Corporation, which he had passed off as being something he did for improving public reputation. He hadn't needed to choose an orphanage. Hadn't needed to choose this one in particular.

His eyes looked to the corner before he could stop himself, and then he found that he could not seem to look away. There was a girl sitting by herself, a little older than most. She was perhaps eleven or twelve years old. A very old chess set occupied the table, the black and white checkered board covered with a grime that muted the dramatic colors, the game pieces dirty and worn with the touch of many hands. The queen was a rock, because the piece had gone missing for many years now, ever since the day Seto had left the orphanage, in fact.

It lay in his pocket, and now his hand slipped down and closed around it. Any beginner could tell you that the queen was the most dangerous piece in the game. It had been the one he had based his strategies on and the one he had defeated Gozaburo with. He'd always thought that the queen was the most valuable, but it was not true, and this was the mistake he had repeated in life. The king was essential, even with the paradox of being the most vulnerable. A queen's existence was completely meaningless without the king.

Seto had been the chess prodigy, but he'd never understood the game. He'd taken the queen and hadn't realized that he needed more to play the game of life than a queen. He'd tried to rid himself of all weaknesses by playing chess without a king, and had lost the point of the game altogether…he had had the supreme protector, but there was nothing left to protect.

The girl was playing chess with herself, and she did not look up when the woman in charge called for the children's attention. The room exploded with noise and life when the box was opened and the presents were handed out one by one. Cheeks were flushed with unexpected happiness and the milling bodies put the room into motion, as if they had all been a photograph, which now came to life.

He stood outside the room, looking at the scene through the slight opening of the doorway. No one noticed him, but he focused all his attention on the girl. She was too old to surrender to the joy of presents, too jaded from life. Already, at such an age, he thought. Not even for Christmas Eve could she let reality slip away and become a child again. How many years had she spent here, waiting for a savior? The older the children became, the less likely they would be wanted.

He wondered when he himself lost that particular sort of innocence. He was a shadow when he slipped into the room silently. Only the girl noticed, and she raised her head and glared at him defiantly when he made his way to her corner table. He knew what she saw: a rich young man, son of some billionaire, come to pretend at being charitable in society.

She waited for him to speak, but her eyes blazed angrily. Yes, there was spirit in this one, he thought, that life had not killed. Had there been that mingled pain and fury in his own eyes, when he had looked at those that came, wanting to adopt him but not wanting his brother? Her posture and her expression were tense, but her eyes gave away all her vulnerability.

There was the moment when she realized who he was. She wasn't stupid, and the orphanage no doubt bragged that one of their own had risen in the world. His hand slipped into his pocket and pulled out the queen, setting it in its rightful place on the board. She reached out, changed the position of a white piece, and then gazed up at him, some unnamed emotion in her eyes.

"Your move," she said, and her voice had the impression of a thousand tiny knives. Most people would have been daunted or impressed. They only saw a child; they didn't see what was living inside that youthful husk of a body. Most people would have hated her, shocked by her behavior. He didn't, because he was like her.

He didn't say anything, just studied the board for a few minutes, eyes not seeing the dilapidated pieces but only thinking about strategy. Chess—the game of kings and generals, the game of life, really, and he had learned it well when he was young. He took the black queen that he had kept with him for so many years, and moved it into position.

"Checkmate."

Her gaze was burning into him, resentment and rebellion and other things in those large, liquid eyes. Unusual golden eyes that, perhaps in another life, would have been called soft, would have made her face pretty. Now, the harsh angles of her cheekbones reminded him of a tiger about to kill.

No, this girl was not a loser, no matter what life threw at her. She took pain and suffering and transformed it into strength: a hard, bitter kind of power.

"Don't despair," the words slipped out although he had not planned to speak. _Don't despair, because you can become like me. You can rise up in the world and create something for yourself. You can have wealth, power. Whatever you need. Whatever you want. _

She was laughing, _laughing _at him, albeit silently. He could see it in the mocking gold gleam of her eyes. Her voice was hoarse and scornful. "Was it such a good sacrifice? You've sold your heart for what you have now."

She said it with all the force of a blow, and time stopped for a moment before he slipped the mask over his face again and smirked at her. _You'll never have a fourth of what I have, because you don't have the guts to earn it_, the ice in his eyes said. He had long ago learned how to shutter even the emotions in his eyes. Someday soon she would learn, too, how to lie with those honey-colored eyes.

Kaiba left as silently as he came.

There was nothing to do in the deserted mansion, no one to go home to. He went home anyway and sat for a long time, staring at meaningless words on the screen of the computer. Sometime then he began to cry, though he denied it. He was not the type of person to cry; he had been damaged far too much to find release in such a way. It was a grief of many years, silent, motionless. Warm tears simply spilled out of his eyes and trailed down his cheeks, the same kind of uncontrollable tears that well up due to sudden pain, only this was not pain of the body, but of something else altogether. Despair was an altogether poor companion.

Long ago, he had tried to create a beautiful life for himself and Mokuba after Gozaburo, but even now he had not recovered. Perhaps he would never be strong again, not truly, because all the strength he had now was brittle, as strong and as fragile as a piece of glass. He had created wealth and had achieved the security that came from such power, but at what sacrifice? The girl's words haunted him.

He had forgotten the scars on his body, but it was nothing. Staring at the mirror, he saw the broken lines marring the smooth white perfection of his back. Maybe one day they would fade away entirely, or at least enough to be unseen by the human eye, but he doubted it. They'd been deep at their creation, made with the intent to scar forever.

But what were these, compared with the scars of the soul, the invisible jagged edges of his heart that seemed to never just _heal_?

xxxxx

A/N: **Please review**...


	3. Dissonance

**Winter Rhapsody**

Part Three – _Dissonance _– _harsh, discordant, a lack of harmony. Also a chord that sounds incomplete until it resolves itself on a harmonious chord_

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"Do you want a drink, Yami? I'm opening a new bottle of soda," Yugi called out to him cheerfully. Usually he was crazy about the carbonated drink, and Yugi indulged his obsession by buying all the new flavors so that they could try them out together. He still vividly remembered the first taste of sugar and vanilla, seemingly magical on his tongue. Oddly, he didn't have a sweet tooth for anything else.

Now, Yami merely nodded and smiled, trying to hide his disinterest. Truth to tell, he was feeling a little tired right now. Not physically, of course, but merely the desire to be alone for a while with his confused thoughts. Of course, he could hardly do that at Yugi's party. It would be unforgivably mean to his light. Even if he wasn't enjoying himself at the party half as much as he had expected, he could at least pretend.

Yugi's grandpa had left them largely to their own devices, with a couple of warnings for Yugi not to make any messes or to let things get out of hand. Then he'd gone off over to one of his professor-friend's house, apparently feeling that it was safe to leave the place in their hands. Privately, Yami thought he might be overestimating their maturity by a bit. But Yugi had planned out everything, and Yami had helped him decorate and design and finish off a million little details, so he could really only have faith that all would go well.

Watching everyone, Yami could tell that it was a success. The party was lively and cheerful despite the fact that all the usual people were there, just dressed differently. It seemed like Yami was the only one who had felt apathetic all evening. He inwardly sighed, feeling just a little guilty for being disloyal; he liked Yugi's friends well enough, but…he couldn't help but yearn for more.

Joey had been at Mai's side all evening and he had to admit they made a nice couple in their own way. Mai complemented Joey perfectly, and it was easy to see that the two blondes were crazy about each other. Yami would have danced with Serenity, but Duke and Tristan made it clear that they didn't need any more competition for her time.

The music gave the atmosphere an energized feel, Yami had to admit. He'd danced once with Tea, but only because Yugi had given him that pleading look that he never could resist. He didn't want to ruin everything for Yugi, and he didn't understand himself why he felt so tense and irritated. He kept on looking around the room as if he expected someone to suddenly show up, and every time he caught himself looking over the faces of Yugi's friends again he became more annoyed with himself.

Yami supposed that he just didn't really fit in at the Christmas party. Oh, he enjoyed the gift giving and everything, but the day felt like any other.

_/Cheer up, Yami/_ Yugi told him now. _/Can't you see the magic of Christmas?/ _

_/I'm not unhappy…/_

Yugi came up close to him, handing him a drink anyway. "But you're not having the time of your life, are you?" He pouted, and Yami smiled despite himself; Yugi looked adorable when he had that expression on, and they'd had many interesting conversations over the particular terminology.

_/I don't pout/_ his aibou said hurriedly, after taking just one look at his suddenly laughing yami and realizing the cause of his merriment. Yugi drew his face into mock-seriousness. "The party's for you too, Yami, and I want to know why you're not having fun!"

He was spared having to answer when Mokuba dashed up to them. The younger Kaiba had surprisingly fit right in even with everyone being so much older than he was. He hadn't even batted an eye earlier, when during a game of Truth or Dare Joey had demanded that Mai play a game of strip poker with him. As a joke, of course, but Yami had been surprised to see Yugi blushing more than Mokuba. If Kaiba just _knew _what corrupting presences his precious younger brother had been exposed to… Yami deliberately shifted away from that thought, suddenly feeling lightheaded as he inadvertently admitted to himself what was absent, and even more inadvertently admitted _why _it mattered to him.

"Hey, Yami, can I talk with you for a minute?" Mokuba said, voice almost drowned out by the sudden laughter from the other side of the room, where Joey was re-enacting Tristan's monkey days in Noah's virtual reality.

"Of course," he said automatically. Yugi gave him another suspicious glance and Yami smiled for his benefit, even though he still got the feeling that his light wasn't entirely satisfied.

Mokuba looked uncomfortable. "I mean…I'm sorry Yugi, it's just that I sort of have to talk to Yami privately."

"No problem," Yugi said, not in the least offended. He looked at Yami thoughtfully. He'd seen Yami looking around earlier. Several times, in fact. He'd wondered if he should've at least attempted to invite Kaiba, and then had decided not to because it surely would have put Yami on edge. He was fairly certain that he'd never seen Yami look even moderately relaxed in the other duelist's presence, and it would definitely create problems with Joey and the rest of the group. Judging by Yami's expression, it looked like he might just as well have invited Kaiba, though.

Yugi could only imagine the smirk that would've surely graced Kaiba's face had he known that his absence caused as much displeasure as his presence. Maybe Yami was looking for a challenge. Then again, it was Christmas Eve, there had to be more to it than simply that.

Mokuba led Yami away, and Yugi was left preoccupied with his thoughts. Could it be that his dark was _attracted _to Kaiba? He balked at the sudden thought, about to laugh it off, but despite its apparent absurdity, it made sense. It made sense in some twisted, logical way, and just like that, all the pieces seemed to fit just as well as the Millennium Puzzle had come together in his hands.

Yami hated Kaiba with a passion…Kaiba hated Yami with a passion… Yugi's mind inserted _for each other _and glued the hypothesis together with all the weird glares he'd observed during school, the way Kaiba stared at Yami and vice versa. He'd thought it was meant in an insulting way, considering that Kaiba stared at Yami as if he weren't there and as if there just happened to be some fascinating piece of Java code written on his chair.

He'd been pretty sure that Yami felt the same way too, but now that he really thought about it, his dark had never been vocal about his dislike of Kaiba. He knew that Yami held some sort of respect for the brunette and that Kaiba likewise held grudging respect for Yami. Was there something _more _that he'd been missing all this time?

Impossible. They seemed to hate each other so much...or had Yugi and his friends put that "hate" there because it seemed to fit so well? And Yami had hinted once that Seto reminded him of someone from his past, but Yugi knew something about that. He'd seen the tablets with carvings of the past High Priest dueling the Pharaoh. If that wasn't proof of some sort of betrayal and enmity, what was? Or had he misinterpreted what little Yami had shown to him?

There _was _such a fine line between love and hate…

_Impossible. _

Or was it?

xxxxx

"I have something for you," Mokuba said, taking a present out of a bag. He'd taken extra care to wrap it nicely, but it was still obviously his work.

"I don't understand," Yami said, a puzzled look in his ruby eyes. They'd all exchanged gifts earlier in the evening, and Mokuba had already given him something. All the packages were under the tree now because Yugi insisted that they waited until next morning to unwrap everything.

"It's not from me," Mokuba said quickly. Yami looked at him, wondering why he had a bad feeling about this. "It's actually from…Seto…" Mokuba didn't tell Yami that he'd found it in his brother's room, in the trash, where the sparkle of it amid discarded papers had caught his eye. Obviously his brother had bought it for one specific person in mind, but there was no way in hell that he would actually bring himself to give it to him, after all…

"_What_?" Yami's voice was incredulous and belatedly he realized that he might have offended Mokuba. The younger boy was standing there with a small half-smile on his face though, and his eyes were serious.

"I know you weren't expecting anything, and actually I wrapped it myself, but I know he wanted you to have it," Mokuba said in a rush. Besides, no one would be stupid enough to throw something like this away, no matter how rich one was.

"Well, uh…" Yami's mind scrambled for something to say. "Uh, thank you. Or thank him, I guess."

"Can you please open it a little later? I mean, not tomorrow, with the other presents. It's," Mokuba struggled to put his thoughts into words, "_special._ Just open it when I'm gone." It was also surety that Yami wouldn't try to return it, which Mokuba thought had a high likelihood. He didn't even know where on earth his brother had found something like that. But better in Yami's hands, where they belonged, than accidentally at the bottom of some trash pile.

Still bewildered, Yami nodded his consent and looked down curiously at the package. It was heavy but not very large.

"All right, then. Thanks for everything! I hope you like it!" With that, Mokuba headed back to join the crowd in a carefully planned retreat, satisfied.

Yami unwrapped the package slowly, carefully, feeling tense anticipation. Bracing himself for the impact of…what? It shouldn't have mattered so much to him, but it did. He wished he could have given Kaiba something, even an anonymous gift so the other would accept it. Still preoccupied with thoughts, Yami lifted the top from the sleek black case and for a moment he forgot to breath.

They lay there, gleaming true gold on a piece of black velvet. Twin cuffs in a deceptively simple design, but looking at it, a wash of memories overwhelmed him—he had worn such symbols of power when he was Pharaoh, and…

_He stood before the masses and spoke the last words, raising his hands high above his head. The sunlight caught the metal, glowing golden rays shining out over his head; he was both god and king to his people, and the voices of the multitude had risen in a wordless tribute, a deafening roar of worship. _

_One by one they knelt, as if at some higher command; they feared and loved and it was the uniting of both these emotions that he evoked in them that made him the greatest ruler the land had ever known. To have such power…it was beyond the comprehension of most men, but in that moment he ignored it all, turning to his side where _another_ stood. Ruby and sapphire caught each other for one brief moment, blazing—_Set_—then he watched as the High Priest shuttering away the turmoil in those stormy blue depths, and watched as he knelt, slowly, and only he had understood the full depth of that gesture. _

_He could not bear to see such pride in this expression of submission and at the same time it touched him, and woke desire in him, too. There was such strange intimacy found when they were surrounded on all sides. And then, without realizing it, he was at his lover's side and helping him rise, the gold on his wrists flashing in their movements…_

The gold was cold against his skin but quickly warmed, and when he lowered his hands to his sides the shirt he was wearing concealed them. Oddly enough it gave him more pleasure to know they were there but others couldn't see it, a private wonder, as if they were a mark of possession. They were heavy, but he liked the heaviness, the familiarity of it echoing back to his past.

"Yami?" Yugi's voice jolted him back into reality and he wondered suddenly how much time had passed. "Are you all right?" His light had come back for him, no doubt wondering where he'd gone since Mokuba had rejoined the party. Yugi stared at him with some concern.

"I'm fine, Yugi," he managed, and for the second time that evening, struggled to put a convincing smile on his face. Yugi's expression told him just how transparent his attempt was, but thankfully he didn't press the issue.

"Well, it's pretty late and Mokuba's supposed to be home by twelve at the latest, so could you take him home?"

"Take him home?" Yami repeated huskily. Yugi thought he caught the shine of liquid in those crimson eyes and wondered what could have happened. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but tonight hadn't been what he'd expected at all.

Duke had actually offered to take Mokuba home, but Yugi had covertly declined. Mokuba was the perfect link, and he was the perfect excuse for Yugi to attempt to throw Yami and Kaiba together and see exactly _why _the sparks flew.

"Just to make sure he gets home safely." _And because I think there's more to this than meets the eye…Mokuba's not sure what's afoot, neither am I, but he certainly leapt at the suggestion. _

"Right…" he conceded before he had actually thought about it, still staring at his wrists as if he could see through cloth and into the fabric of the soul. Yugi had the insane urge to go over there and find out what was so fascinating that hadn't been, before.

Then Yami realized that Mokuba was approaching, remembered what he'd just said, and seriously wondered what he'd gotten himself into.

xxxxx

They entered the mansion silently, and Yami thought it was a little unnerving how large yet utterly lifeless the place was. He had all be for dropping Mokuba off by the front gate and hightailing it back to Yugi, but Mokuba had other plans. It was a shame, because Yami really, really wanted to sit down and have a long talk with Yugi.

No, Mokuba had wanted Yami to come in and see his room, and since Yami hadn't ever been inside the Kaiba house, he didn't have a good excuse to decline. He was beginning to feel as if Mokuba and Yugi were in on some _scheme _with Yami being their puppet. Yami tried to tell himself that he was only being paranoid, but the uneasy feeling persisted.

On their way to Mokuba's bedroom they passed what must have been Kaiba's. The light under his door was on and Yami could hear soft music.

"Nii-sama plays the piano," Mokuba told him, seeing the surprised look on Yami's face. "Goza—it was required that he learned it very well, able to match a professional pianist. Even though he was forced to learn it, I think he likes it. I think it reminds him of old memories. He doesn't play often."

Yami didn't reply for a moment, surprised. That was _Kaiba _playing the soft, almost melancholy melodies that they now heard? If Mokuba hadn't seemed so certain, he would have laughed. He'd never thought of Kaiba in conjunction with music. It was so unlikely for Kaiba to be doing something so…_human _as to lose himself in music.

They finally entered Mokuba's spacious, but somehow still cozy room. The interior decoration was surprising un-childish, and Mokuba showed him everything, explaining that he and Seto had chosen everything themselves.

At this point Yami started laughing and Mokuba had to patiently wait for him to finish, puzzlement in his eyes. Yami couldn't really explain what was so funny. Kaiba, an _interior designer_…the thought was ridiculously entertaining. He wondered if he wasn't laughing more out of nerves than anything else. What was he doing here, after all? It was _Kaiba's_ mansion.

Seeing that Yami wasn't about to share, Mokuba threw himself on his bed tiredly, but when he looked up at Yami his eyes were still bright. "I feel sort of guilty," he admitted. "It's Christmas Eve and Seto spent it all alone. I should've never asked to go, but he wouldn't let me stay with him after he found out. Promise me you'll go see Seto before you leave?"

"_What?"_ This time, Yami just barely managed to speak in a normal voice. Was Mokuba never out of surprises? Ruby eyes narrowed suspiciously, pinning the kid with a direct gaze.

"It's all right if you don't," the younger kid said quickly. "It's just, tonight should have been special, you know?" His words were oddly reminiscent of Yugi's. _Can't you see the magic of Christmas? _

Yami hesitated, the appeal not completely lost on him, but warring with his natural instincts. He would be insane to try to approach Seto in his own house. On the other hand, there was also the overwhelming curiosity, and his feelings were still mixed up about the "present" Mokuba had transferred from Seto to him. He'd had some time to think about it all, and he couldn't possibly be able to _keep _the gift, considering that the cuffs were pure gold, and probably worth more that the entire Turtle Game Shop altogether.

And it seemed as if Kaiba hadn't wanted him to have it after all, so he couldn't in good conscience just accept the gift from Mokuba.

"I'll go. Just go to sleep, all right?"

Mokuba looked up at him sleepily and smiled. Yami thought it looked rather mischievous for that angelic face and it reminded him of Yugi again—when he planned something crazy for his poor, unsuspecting yami.

xxxxx

A/N: Please review? **Please**?


	4. Rhapsody

**Winter Rhapsody**

Part Four – _Rhapsody – __a fantasy-like composition of free form with dramatic changes in mood; violent music evoking heightened emotions; ecstasy_

_**  
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**Yami stood outside of the door for a while, just listeninfg. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't really imagine Kaiba at the piano, though at the same time he admitted that there wasn't a single reason why he shouldn't. It was just…Kaiba wasn't the emotional sort, after all._

_Stop lying to yourself, Yami, you knew all along. You just never wanted to see, so you closed your eyes as tightly as you could, blinding yourself to it…pretending that he's no more than the callous, cold monster that you named him._

_You _named _him…_

The scene on the last day before winter vacation played in his mind. Kaiba stood before the crumpled body of a student. The freshman's arm was at an odd angle and it was clear he had broken it from a fall off the bars. The crowd parted before Kaiba, the space around the freshman clearing despite the few uncertain friends that tried to stand their ground. Mokuba trailed along after his older brother.

Yami, watching, didn't exactly know what he was expecting. A strange welter of feelings assaulted him as he watched Kaiba crouch by the student's side, examining the injury but not making a move to touch the younger boy. For the briefest moment, he thought that, despite all previous instances, Kaiba would suddenly reveal his all too human heart. He would show some sort of kindness, which would serve as a confirmation. Yami would know that Kaiba wasn't what everyone thought of him…that there really was something _more _inside, that he simply didn't show the world.

And like every time, his illusions were shattered by reality.

"Stop crying, you fool," Kaiba snapped at the boy.

The callousness of his words had everyone gasping, a quick indrawn breath and then a few nervous rustles, as if the people were whispering _I can't believe he actually said that_. But no one moved to help or to call a teacher over. School had been out for a long time and no one was around.

"I told you, stop crying." Kaiba's blunt, harsh words had the effect of stopping the youth's tears. He looked more defiant than terrified, despite his broken arm. Pain was forgotten as he focused his anger on Kaiba. But though Kaiba still knelt at by his side, he was now talking on the thin silver cell phone he had pulled from his trench coat.

"Leave him alone. You're a monster, Kaiba," Yami hissed, sudden fury blinding him as it did every time Kaiba did something else to prove Yugi wrong – Yugi, who somehow always led him to hope that Kaiba was victim, not victimizer. And, gods help him, he'd always been too willing to listen, to accept Yugi's explanations…

Disappointment washed over him like a warm tide, and brought with it a helpless sort of anger, at himself, for being such a fool time and time again, but also at Kaiba. How could someone be so adept at shattering all his illusions? Why couldn't he just give it up? Instead, he was hopelessly caught in this endless cycle of expectation and disappointment.

The taunts of the younger children now echoed Yami's own accusation, the boy with the broken arm forgotten to puerile insults. "Mokuba has a monster for a brother…"

There was the look in his eyes when Yami had said those words, the sudden stiffening of his figure. Mokuba stood forlornly by Kaiba's side, his slate-blue eyes looking at Yami accusingly, enormous and full of hurt.

"_Don't you dare say anything about Mokuba."_ His voice was colder than Yami had ever heard it, so cold it gave the impression of ice being thrust through their hearts. Mokuba clung to Kaiba's side, and Yami remembered that he was in actuality younger than he appeared, despite all the times his intelligence and maturity had made him seem to be their equal.

Kaiba had ordered everyone to leave, but the boy's look of fear compelled Yami to stay. When Kaiba's silver car had come, Yami had refused to leave the boy, so he had been there when Kaiba expertly set the arm, given him painkillers — and where were those from? When they had finally arrived at the hospital, Kaiba had taken charge efficiently. Oddly, the boy looked up to Kaiba with gratitude, even as he was being led away by the nurses. What was his name? Yami doubted Kaiba ever found out.

Then the boy's parents had come, taken one look at their son's savior, and all hell had broken loose. Kaiba had turned away, just as silent as ever, except the cold, terse reassurance that "Your boy is fine." The parents' anger had shocked the whole hospital as they hurled invectives and insults to the famous duelist with turmoil in his blue eyes. Kaiba had seemed to shrug everything off as if he were an umbrella in the rain, and then he'd left.

But not before Mokuba had run up to Yami, hands clenched in fists. Yami, who had never felt the crushing censure of a child, almost instinctively took a step back. "My brother was right. You don't understand, any of you! You don't know what it's like. People like _you_—you wouldn't see that Seto was helping him all along."

And Yami had been left standing as Mokuba ran to catch up with his brother, and he saw the two of them disappear into the silver car. He'd understood then, but it was too late, and words couldn't be taken back as if they never had been said. Actions couldn't be undone.

It happened more than a few days ago, but now Yami remembered suddenly with a strange clarity the cruel words he had uttered, words meant to cut, to hurt. He found himself delving into his memory, needing to know if there had been pain in those blue eyes, if just for that one moment, when Kaiba had been unguarded.

He thought about how it had felt so absurd to be overwhelmed by loneliness, not so many hours ago at Yugi's Christmas party. They were his friends and he truly cared for them, as they did for him, but he still felt as if something essential were missing. How could one never feel more alone than when one was surrounded by people? It had been almost like a shock to realize that he'd never truly been part of the group, that it was _Yugi's _group and he was there simply because of that connection. The differences, when he had been at the party, had merely been contrasted in such a way that he could not ignore them. He did not belong here, in this era and with these people, not truly. His heart was still in his past.

He stood for a few minutes in front of Kaiba's door, listening to the muted melodies. Finally, Yami knocked on the door softly, fighting the compulsion to turn around and leave. He had promised Mokuba, however, and his pride would not let him retreat. He was not a coward. Without thinking, he straightened and his almandine eyes narrowed with determination.

There was a soft "Come in," without a break in the heartbreakingly slow music, and Yami knew that Kaiba was expecting Mokuba, returned from the party. He opened the door slowly and then stood there in the doorway, listening to the music pouring out of nowhere like magic, as if Kaiba had found a key to unlock the piano's secrets. The allure of the piano was something new to him. Kaiba turned his head slightly to look at him, and the melody faltered for a moment before it resumed.

Yami was lost in the swirling music. There was something so beautiful about the way it effortlessly spiraled out of the gleaming, polished wood of the grand piano. The notes were clear, like individual drops of water flowing into a melody. The lower notes were rich and dark, but somehow raw, the soul of the piano crying out…then the song drifted in, a summer breeze, and it was as if true love had been found, all the pain transforming into joy…

A dark longing caught at his heart, and he wasn't sure why. Yami walked over to stand by the curve of the grand piano, watching Kaiba. The blue eyes flickered up to catch his gaze, and Yami thought that those eyes were the saddest things he had ever seen. He drew closer, until he was standing close to him, off to the right. The slender fingers danced gracefully across the keyboard and the music swelled up and then died away all of a sudden, leaving a wistful desire hanging in the air – Yami could tell it was not the end of the piece.

He looked up and Kaiba was smiling at him, the sardonic half-smirk that always met him scornfully. But now he wasn't so sure, because it seemed as if Kaiba were mocking himself, as well. The loneliness that Yami read in his eyes contrasted sharply with his suddenly tense body. But there was also a challenge in his manner, that indefinable aura around him that always provoked Yami so, for some unknown reason.

"Come over here, put your hands on the keys," he said with a tone that was half savage, half seductive. There was something feral about him tonight, the same reckless wildness that a cornered animal exhibits when it is desperate, afraid it is dying. The sensation that life was full of contradictions, paradoxes, and there was nothing to lose, everything to gain.

"I've never…I don't know how to play." But Kaiba got up and Yami sat, feeling the pressure of the taller duelist's hands on his shoulders. Hesitantly, he touched the smooth white keys.

"Close your eyes," came the whispered command from just behind him. Startled, Yami twisted around, but Kaiba smiled gently. He had never seen such a look on the usually impassive face, and the thought crossed his mind that it was extraordinary. The tender expression softened the beautifully sculpted angles of his face. Perhaps it was because of this, or some other reason, but Yami trusted him enough to surrender to darkness.

He felt hands slip under his, their fingers intertwining and then settling so that his hands rested lightly over Kaiba's. And slowly, so slowly, he began to play. _They_ began to play.

"Let it go," Yami found himself whispering, or maybe he was only thinking it in his mind. "Just for tonight, let it go—all the pain, all the sadness inside."

Without speaking, they continued, and Yami suddenly found that the music had become a medium for him to gaze into Kaiba's soul. He understood, silently, that healing was his gift to give, and his alone.

The rhapsody surrounded them, the vibrant chords throbbing with life, full of despair and yet transmuting it into something beautiful, at the same time grotesque, because there was always fragile hope woven through it all. The haunting notes reached deep into his heart and called up unbidden memories…

Yami remembered Kisara, the beautiful girl that had come between them so briefly, that Seto had loved and lost. _Set, his prince of darkness…_they had both been named for darkness, then and now. But now when he leaned back towards the warmth he no longer saw Set, for they were the one and the same in his mind.

So much time had passed, and they were different, with different stories, different lives. Seto had no memory of his past, and even Yami's memories were blurred, a welter of confused feelings. But still somehow they were drawn together, throughout the ages, and the love in his heart endured. If only he knew that it had been the same for the other…

Their hands ceased at last and the slow, painful melody died away, the strings of the piano giving an exhausted hum, as if the song had torn out pieces of its wooden heart. Yet the music still lingered in Yami's heart, and he closed his eyes, willing for it to be real. Wanting, fearing that love was just an illusion, something he had created out of his desperate need.

The soft brush of lips against his neck, the sudden loss of warmth as Seto stood up behind him. There were no words spoken, but they were written in those blue eyes, and Yami knew that some things could not be denied, could not be hidden away again as if they were shameful secrets.

They slept together, but it was chaste. There was desire, but this was not the place or time for it, because they were content with love – something so long denied for both – and _that _need transcended the body because it was of the soul.

When Seto felt cold metal on his skin and took Yami's hands into his own, rolling up the sleeves to reveal the golden bands…there was time enough for tears, tears of healing and letting the past go, tears of joy that did not have to be hidden because for one night he could let himself feel. There was something special in the sharing, and it was all right, because it healed the hole in his heart that had been caused by a million and one things.

And then later, when desire became just another form of love, he found that he was still beautiful to the only person that mattered, and that the scars had lost the power to hurt him all over again, the way it was intended when they were first made.

xxxxx

Morning light shone down through the windows and Seto woke a little at a time, a drowsy feeling of happiness that slowly transmuted to joy as he recalled last night and all the reasons for his current bliss. He let his eyes remain lazily closed, reveling in the luxury of an unhurried awakening. When was the last time he did that? He was always up at the first sounds of the alarm clock, crushed by the knowledge of all the things that had to be done in one day, the whole complicated mess of a schedule to somehow work with.

Mokuba's voice was excited as he came down the hallway, and Seto remembered that it was Sunday, and that they made blueberry pancakes on Sundays. He smiled a little, wondering if Yami had ever tried them. The door burst open and he sat up hurriedly, remembering with shock that Yami had been the last person through that door and hadn't locked it.

"Wait, Mokuba, I can explain—" Though he had no idea what to say to a kid that found his brother in bed with a lover.

"Explain what?" Mokuba asked, grinning. "See you in the kitchen!"

It was only then that he realized he was completely alone in the room. He tried to quell his dread and the sudden ache inside his heart, but it had been so perfect…_too_ perfect… The thought was unbearable. _Yami…_

_Was it all a dream, this winter rhapsody? _

xxxxx

A/N: Uh...explanation: I wrote this story last year on a whim (a very weird whim, I'll admit) and without the real intention of ever posting this. Yes, this was the ending. I wasn't aiming to be cruel, this was just an idea of mine. But I've also had some second thoughts, so I'll leave it all up to you guys, whether you want another part or not. **Please review**. Your thoughts are quite important!


	5. Fermata

**Winter Rhapsody**

Part Five – _Fermata – __to hold a tone or rest held beyond the written value at the discretion of the performer_

_**  
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**It was a dream. _

No, it couldn't be. There had to be some kind of sign, some lingering proof that Yami had been here. Seto could not be hallucinating. He had enough faith in himself—surely he could not have conjured the entire night out of his months of lonely and hopeless need... Surely. But he suddenly thought about how Yami had first appeared, right when he had been lost in the enthralling melodies of his winter rhapsody.

Yami had appeared out of nowhere. He had just simply been there when Seto most needed him, slender wrists adorned with heavy gold cuffs, jewelry the brunette had almost desperately believed that Yami should have, from the first moment he had seen them. The price was obscene, but in the end he'd thrown the would-be gift in the trash, in his denied, but no less savage disappointment over the fact he had not merited an invitation to Yugi's party.

Simply put, Yami could _not _have had the twin bracelets. The rational part of his brain pointed out that Yami would have had no reason to be in the Kaiba mansion on the night of Christmas Eve, any more than Santa Claus would actually show up by dropping down their chimney. By all rights, Yami would be spending his night with Yugi and their little circle of friends, probably teasing Mokuba about his older brother at their party.

The bitterness and pain, which had been gone so briefly—_forever_, he had thought—suddenly returned with twice the force. Seto pulled on his clothes numbly, and then sat down again on the edge of the bed, unable to face the prospect of going down to the kitchen, where Mokuba no doubt was waiting eagerly. Everything would serve to only confirm what logic dictated. _Yami was gone. _

"Don't be ridiculous," Seto said aloud to himself, fighting the sudden surge of panic. Yami was downstairs, that was all, and Mokuba was probably already showing him around. He could even imagine how dark crimson eyes would widen in amazement at the complicated things that had been invented for so simple a thing as cooking.

But he knew that Yami was gone even as he forced himself to rise and walked slowly down the flight of stairs. The muffled sound of his footsteps on the thick carpet told him. The stillness of the enormous house told him, as if it felt as overwhelmingly abandoned as he did, and was trying to share the sense of loss. The halls echoed with mocking silence, if such a paradox were possible.

Seto entered the kitchen, alive with Mokuba's energy and excitement, and he couldn't help but look around, as if by any chance a Yami might be there. Of course, there wasn't. The sudden hope that had carried him for a moment had only lifted him higher so that he would crash harder.

"Set-o, you're finally up! I thought you were going to be lazy and leave me to make the whole breakfast myself!" Mokuba poured the batter into the pan with an air of almost childish determination, concentrating so that it was just the right amount, and spread evenly over the entire surface. It was only when he was completely done, and had realized that his brother had never responded to his greeting, that he looked up.

The pancake was entirely forgotten in a moment. Seto was completely closed off and the expression on his face was eerily blank of any expression, almost as if it were a mask. Blue eyes were at sub-arctic temperatures; they flickered up to meet Mokuba's surprised gaze for a moment before lowering to study the ground dispassionately.

"Seto…?"

He kept his gaze down, wishing all of a sudden with all his heart that of all the people, he didn't have to be here with Mokuba. His younger brother was the only one who had ever been sensitive to his moods, when the slight changes he showed were imperceptible to even people who had worked with him for years and years. Mokuba was the only one who penetrated the thick walls he had put between himself in the world, slipping through them to sit besides him.

"Good morning, Mokuba," he said at last, and waited for a moment. The hesitant look on Mokuba's eyes was barely enough to capture his listless thoughts. He felt as if everything inside of him were made of heavy lead, so ridiculously heavy he couldn't move. "If you don't get back to that pancake right now, it'll be burned."

"_Oh_—" Mokuba dashed back to the stove hastily, flipping his creation with considerable skill and no small amount of pride, even when so worried about the very same person who had taught him how to flip pancakes. He was forced to guard over the food, although he threw flickering, worried glances at Seto, who had taken a seat in the table in the corner of the kitchen.

Five minutes later, pancakes done and task momentarily aborted although there was still enough batter to make more, Mokuba dropped into the seat across from his brother's, sliding a plate of pancakes towards Seto, and putting one in front of himself. He loved pancakes, that had been the whole reason why this Sunday tradition had been started, and yet he just didn't have the appetite this morning.

Mokuba knew his brother well enough to know that the best thing was to act as normally as possible and carry on as if he had noticed nothing different. The problem was, he usually had no idea _why _his brother was in whatever mood he was in, although he had no trouble sensing them. This time, he had a feeling it had to do with last night, and his brother's unexpected visitor.

He hadn't heard voices raised in argument, but he'd fallen asleep almost immediately after Yami had left him…and the walls were thick, after all. Mokuba nervously cut his pancake into progressively smaller and smaller pieces, only taking a bite once in a while, more to maintain appearances than out of any real desire to eat.

Seto was still staring off into space in an unnervingly fixed gaze. Just when Mokuba thought he could stand the silence no more, his brother rose from the table and met his anxious eyes.

The look in Seto's eyes, shades lighter that his own, was one that Mokuba did not think he could ever forget. He had the fleeting impression of broken things, of broken _souls_, and he tried hard to stop there, but the thought still crossed his mind anyway. It was the look of someone pushed beyond the limits of despair. The blue was serene, not in turmoil as one might have expected, but the only word that came immediately to mind was _lightning kissed_…and it wasn't in a good way, but maybe like the aftermath of a horrible storm that had left devastation in its wake. Despite his instincts and best intentions, Mokuba still ended up staring at his transformed brother. The silence was positively loud.

Seto withdrew even more, if possible, and only said distantly, "I'm sorry, Mokuba, I promise I'll make it up to you later." He turned to leave, and even his movements were not the confident, one might say _arrogant_, movements of the Seto Kaiba the world knew.

"Seto…did you have a fight with him?" Mokuba said in a rush of fear.

Seto's heart leapt, stumbled, and pounded unevenly in his chest at those words. _Him._ His proof was here, maybe, at last. He was careful to keep his question absolutely toneless. "Who?"

"I…I sent Yami to say goodbye to you last night. I'm sorry, Seto," Mokuba said in a rush, eyes nearly filling with tears as he connected his brother's dark mood this morning with the events of last night that he and Yugi had collaborated on. "I know you say you hate him! I know I shouldn't have, but I just thought, it was Christmas, after all…"

"Mokuba—" he said very gently, causing Mokuba to take a horrified gulp of air before his tears brimmed over.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean for you guys to fight again. I should've known, _Yugi _should've known…I guess we just didn't want it to be _hate_, if there were any alternatives…so we thought that maybe, if you two could see each other…"

"It's fine, Mokuba. Don't worry about it," he said as steadily as he could, but both were aware of the pretense.

"But, Seto, maybe if you find him…" Mokuba suggested earnestly, torn between heavy guilt and his natural optimism. Good intentions paved the way to hell…but sometimes to heaven, too. "I gave him your gift last night, and he really liked it, I'm _positive_."

So, _Mokuba_ had saved his gift. Things were becoming painfully understandable to Seto now, like how Yami had ended up with the thick gold cuffs after all, and how he'd ended up inside the Kaiba mansion, and in _his _bedroom last night. Unfortunately, the clarity only drove the knife deeper.

"Don't dabble in things you can't understand, Mokuba," he said, an edge to his voice. Immediately the hurt look in those slate-blue eyes made him regret his acerbic words, and he relented. "Mokuba, I didn't mean it. I'll see you later." Even the implied apology to his own brother was difficult.

Seto had nowhere to go, so he ended up heading back to his own room, mindful of leaving Mokuba upset but not, at the moment, about to do anything about it. He found himself wishing desperately that he had the distraction of Kaiba Corp, but of course, business was simply not conducted on Sundays.

In the sanctuary of his own room, he resolutely turned to his computer, intending to lose himself in the complex code he had been developing over the last few weeks. But every time he complied the program, he only found new errors – small things like misplaced semicolons, syntactical errors he should have never made in a thousand years. He breathed deeply to try to calm himself, and stopped abruptly.

The scent was everywhere, driving him crazy. Seto wasn't even sure that he wasn't only imagining it, some kind of mixture of cinnamon and the rich flavor of dark chocolate, or perhaps it was something more unusual, like sandalwood oil. Just as exotic as Yami.

He hadn't thought that anything could possibly be worse than if Yami had been a dream. Mokuba's innocent words, unwittingly sharpened knives, had slashed into him and proved that he had been wrong.

After all, they proved that Yami had simply left him of his own free will. It wasn't a dream. Dreams were endowed with the special hope of coming true, no matter how outrageous or impossible. It was this hope that had fed his soul and sustained him through darker times than he had thought possible. It was this hope that he absolutely relied on, and now reality was taking that hope away, because it _wasn't _a dream.

The reality was that Seto might have meant something to Yami, might have not. _Apparently not, or Yami wouldn't have left_, he thought, as if masochistically testing how much those words would hurt. Those whispered words last night might be utterly false. The balm to the wounds in his spirit, the expression he had been thrilled to see in adamantine eyes, might only have been salt on raw wounds.

_Really_, he thought dully, _I would have preferred it to be a dream_.

xxxxx

"Hello?"

"Turtle Game Shop," Yugi answered automatically as he picked up the phone, still rather wistfully looking at the half eaten apple in his hand and wishing he could finish it. He hadn't even eaten anything for lunch, after all.

"Yugi?" The voice on the phone was tremulous, and it took him a moment to recognize it.

"Hi…Mokuba?" Yugi hadn't even known that the younger Kaiba had had his phone number, although of course, Mokuba could have looked up the listed number in a phone directory. Or, he supposed Seto Kaiba wasn't above keeping profiles on all major duelists, complete with details of what everyone's favorite foods were, in case that might affect their dueling strategy in some way.

"Is Yami there?"

"No, I thought—he isn't with you guys?" Yugi asked with some alarm. Yami hadn't come home last night, but he'd taken that as a good sign. Not if Mokuba was calling though. Had something bad had happened to Yami? A dozen scenarios ran through his head, Yami being mugged for his deck, Yami getting lost, however ridiculous the notion, and something far more likely: Yami…coming off of a fight with Kaiba. Yugi winced.

"We need to find him…maybe you could talk to him?" Mokuba didn't sound very hopeful.

"Has something happened?"

"I don't know," came the guilty confession. "I sent Yami to Seto last night, and he went pretty willingly. But this morning he was nowhere to be found, and Seto's…he's been acting devastated. I don't think I've ever seen him like this."

"And Yami's not there?"

"No!" Mokuba wailed. "He was just gone this morning. Yugi, do you think they had a fight? Were we wrong about the whole thing?"

"I hope not." A miserable pause, as both thought about how horribly things might have gone last night. "Well, I'll try to find Yami, and we'll go from there, I guess. What's your brother doing right now?"

"He's in his room."

"All right, then. Don't worry, Mokuba. Things will work out," Yugi said, trying to sound reassuring. Even to himself, he didn't sound very confident.

"Yugi, you _have _to find Yami," Mokuba said desperately.

"I will. I'll talk to you later." He was already thinking of where Yami could have gone; there surely couldn't be many places, right?

"I guess. Well, 'bye, Yugi." The sharp click as Mokuba hung up went unnoticed by Yugi, until he finally realized that he was simply sitting there, cradling the phone in his hands.

He really couldn't think of any special locations, but he resolved to at least go out. Maybe Téa would be willing to help look for him…although that might require an explanation of _why _Yami needed to be found, along with the problem of get her to leave after they found him. Besides, Yami might not appreciate being found, even by Yugi.

It was a profoundly depressing thought. Normally, the bond between them included a kind of link that filtered some of their thoughts and emotions to each other. Yugi naturally hadn't been entirely pleased to find out about this, but had later grown to appreciate that special effect of sharing one body between two minds. Of course, they'd learned later that some shields could be used to give each other privacy; a constant bond would probably drive any normal person insane. Now, Yami must be deliberately or subconsciously blocking his end, as Yugi couldn't feel a single thing even though he tried.

Yugi's musings carried him out the door, where he was greeted with the familiar sight of a spiky head bowed over a slim body sitting on the edge of the curb. So much for a search, he thought with some relief.

"Yami?"

His dark straightened abruptly and twisted his head around to meet surprised violet eyes. All in all, he didn't look as terrible as Yugi's worst fears might have imagined, but dark circles were underneath his eyes, and he certainly seemed depressed. In fact, he looked even more dejected when he saw Yugi.

Yugi almost stared, having barely caught the briefest flicker of guilt in his Yami's eyes. He dropped to sit on the curb besides Yami, a sudden suspicion striking him—a reason that might actually explain the whole sorry mess, at least if his guesses were right.

"Yami, why aren't you with Seto?" Yugi asked straightforwardly, deciding he didn't have the patience or tact to subtly approach the subject.

"You _know_?" If anything Yami looked as if he were cringing away from Yugi, and his eyes darkened with what looked exactly like guilt…and Yugi began to really think.

Suppose Yami _hadn't _had a fight with Kaiba. Suppose everything, in fact, had gone exactly as planned, right up until the point that Yami suddenly realized that he was with his believed-to-be worst enemy. And in fact, Kaiba _was _the universally declared enemy that Yugi and his circle of friends hated with a passion. Witness Joey, for example.

Naturally, Yami might be a little conflicted. Romeo and Juliet might be a very romantic story, but no one _really _wanted to deal with that kind of situation—and it was a tragedy, after all. In fact, Yami might see it as a sort of…betrayal? towards Yugi. Which might explain why he flinched away as Yugi now put his hand on his shoulder.

"Yami, I know we all thought you hated Kaiba, but you really don't."

"But the rest of you do!" Yami blurted out, confirming Yugi's theory perfectly.

"Yami," he sighed, drawing his dark into a loose embrace. If he felt a few wet, hot drops on his neck, who was to know? Yami appeared as he always was: confident, steady, and strong, although a little ragged around the edges at the moment. A pharaoh still, although his kingdom had long since disappeared.

"They're _my_ friends, but they wouldn't be _yours _if they didn't support you in this, Yami. Love should be a matter of choices. I can't imagine that you would think that I'd let you choose me over him and be miserable all the rest of your life."

"But, Yugi…"

"Well, don't you love him?"

"I do." It was said quietly, hopelessly.

"Then you should be happy enough to announce it to the whole world. You should _be_ with him, making everyone envious because you have him and he has you, and because you're perfect for each other."

"Do you really meant that, Yugi? Are you all right with it?" He looked so grave; it almost pained Yugi to meet his gaze.

"Am I all right with it?" Yugi said incredulously. "Yami, I've always been all right with Kaiba, even in his worst moments, even when he pissed _you _off terribly. We always thought _you _were the one that hated him, remember?"

His diatribe finally succeeded in bringing a grudging smile to Yami's face. "I suppose that's true."

Yugi's voice suddenly softened and turned serious again, as he returned to his seat next to Yami. "You don't want to lose the best thing that's ever happened to you. I can't imagine a love that's so strong, so enduring, that it's lasted throughout the ages. I was just thinking about it earlier. The kingdom of Egypt is gone, but your love remained where it could not. Doesn't that tell you something? Can you really walk away from that?"

"I…I don't know. But I would have tried for you."

Yugi laughed, a burst of happy sound that somehow cleared the air of past, darker emotions. "Why on earth would I _want _you to? Yami, you might technically be over 5,000 years older than me, but sometimes you're just silly."

"Am not," Yami said, eyes flashing a little with the challenge, and relieved to be able to seize the chance to steer the conversation towards lighter waters.

"Are too."

"You realize you're pouting right now?"

"I do not pout!" came Yugi's indignant yell.

The next few minutes degenerated into an utterly childish bout of name-calling and denials, but when they finally stopped, gasping for breath from laughter, they both felt immensely better. They fell back onto the sidewalk, momentarily exhausted.

"You shouldn't keep him waiting," Yugi said not soon afterward. Yami nodded, and stood up, suddenly plagued by doubts again.

"What if…what if he doesn't want me back?"

"No one can answer that, and there's only one real way to find out," Yugi pointed out.

Yami made a resigned motion with his hands, never having been cowardly in face of anything. He suddenly spun around again; Yugi stood like a small angel. His light. His clear and pure light, to his confused darkness. "Thank you, Yugi."

The words were inadequate, but they both knew, so it didn't matter. Yugi simply threw himself at Yami to give him another unchecked show of support. As Yami drew away from him and turned to leave, he heard the faintest echo, barely heard and wordlessly sincere…

/_Thank you./_

xxxxx

Yami had left Seto at seven in the morning, though it could have been a little earlier. The exact time didn't matter. He hadn't known that Yami had left him until five minutes after seven, and that was all that mattered.

It was eleven-thirty now, and he sat at the table, not really doing anything, just simply contemplating. He had never really known defeat. Or maybe it was simply that he told himself he didn't want the things he couldn't obtain. But in reality, everything he wanted, he had sooner or later gained, right?

Seto conveniently forgot the fact that he _had _known defeat, and that only one person had ever truly and completely defeated him.

The point was, Yami would come back to him. It was just a misunderstanding. He had gone home to tell Yugi, so that Yugi wouldn't worry that he hadn't been out all night. It was exactly the kind of thing Yami might do, because Yami was considerate and Yami took care of Yugi, who meant a lot to him. It made perfect sense.

He lay back on his bed, closed his eyes, and breathed the lingering scent, trying to keep his mind blank. Yami was probably on his way back to him, but no doubt he was hungry; he would have stopped to grab something to eat. Later, there would be plenty of time to introduce Yami to all the odd things he'd learned to cook, that secretive side of himself no one but Mokuba knew.

He could learn to make something Egyptian. He had no idea what Egyptian people ate, besides vague pictures of Arabic food. It would be a nice thing to surprise Yami with.

At two, he ventured downstairs. Mokuba was nowhere to be seen, probably in his room. Feeling as if he had decidedly lost something, he walked around, entering every room. Some of them he hadn't set foot in for months. Nothing looked out of place. The place was a silent as usual, the marble floors beautifully veined, the varnish on the wood gleaming. Seto returned to his room after a while and resolved to wait patiently for Yami.

The glowing red numbers on the clock, when he finally looked at it, felt like a physical blow. Four o'clock. His eyes burned and he wiped furiously at them. With nothing better to do, he went to sit on the piano bench. The notes still blurred as he flipped through pages and pages, Chopin and Mozart and Liszt, but it didn't matter. Seto just wanted to find the perfect thing to be playing when Yami came back, so that, like last night, he would be greeted with the soft strains of the piano chords.

At five, he wondered what Mokuba was doing, but his little brother had always been independent. Yami was probably with Yugi; he wondered abstractly about what they usually ate, and if Yugi's Grandpa cooked. He must be waiting until nightfall to come back, Seto realized. Of course, Yami was a romantic, and a meeting in the dark would be much more appealing.

He was starting to run out of rationalizations and could not ward off the thought that Yami was never going to return. They would just go back to exactly as they were, and maybe they'd meet again, staring each other down across the dueling field.

Seto returned to the piano and played Debussy's _Clair de Lune _three times in a row, the delicate, fragile notes a small reprieve. But he finished all too soon, the white keys almost shining in his vision, and then he began to play randomly. A slow melody on the air, pensive and wistful, aching with loss, as if pouring out some unknown story of tragedy.

Not his own, of course. He composed the story of Tristan and Isolde, perhaps, or some other famous, star-crossed pair. The music reflected some legend that which would explain why the smooth, cool coating was slippery with wetness beneath his dancing fingers.

He did not want it to ever end, because when the final notes died away, his winter rhapsody would end, not in a dream, but in plain reality. So he added to the melody, he repeated it, and he made variations, bowing his head so that his cheek rested on the darkly polished wood.

"_So if you wanted to, you could hold the note forever?" the child asked, blue eyes bright with astonishment. _

"_Yes, I suppose you could, if you wanted to."_

"_As long as you want?" Just to be sure._

"_Completely within your control," the lady assured him. "Though you have to remember, forever is a long time for the audience to wait!"_

"_Well, it's going to be my favorite, then, more than the crescendo or the trills," he said, bringing a smile to his teacher's lips, for this most gifted of pupils who so loved the music. "Fer-ma-ta," he said again, slowly, pronouncing the strange Italian syllables with care. _

Hands touched the back of his neck and cupped his head lovingly, and his fingers finally ceased moving, though they froze to sustain the last soft note to his rhapsody, as he turned to look, not daring to believe.

Yami stood besides him uncertainly, and as Seto gazed into ruby eyes, he saw the color darken with determination, even as Yami leaned forward. A kiss started, gentle with feeling, and it was slow, sweet, and perfect.

Soundless apologies were said and accepted, and he finally took his hands away from the keyboard to instead grasp slender wrists still encircled with gold, pulling Yami close, skin hot and silken against his. Cinnamon, or chocolate, or sandalwood oil scented the air, rare and unusual, as Yami's head rested against his chest, and then Seto finally realized…no, it was none of those things. Just Yami.

_Fermata. Forever, if you want it._

_-fin-_

xxxxx

A/N: Thoughts, comments, criticisms? **Please review! **I know the story has been complete for a long time, but every little bit of feedback is cherished!


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